


Desert Camp

by treefrogie84



Series: Old Guard Bingo [4]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Nicky can be a stubborn bastard, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Somehow, it never occurred to him that the desert could be this cold. They’re far enough from the camps Nicolo doesn’t think they’re in danger of being seen, but all the same, Yusuf didn’t think they should light a fire tonight.Of course, he’s also wrapped in his bedroll and burrowed into the sand.Nicolo bites his lip and tries again to stretch out, grimacing as rocky sand infiltrates his clothing again. God’s Toes, even if he could get warm, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep with sand everywhere.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Old Guard Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901185
Comments: 6
Kudos: 164
Collections: The Old Guard Bingo





	Desert Camp

**Author's Note:**

> Second fill for Huddling for Warmth and much lighter. 
> 
> Thanks again to [Avanie](https://avaniesque.tumblr.com/) for dealing with commas and my love of weird phrasing. and to [Hermit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9) for giving me a title.
> 
> Again, if you think i'm missing a tag, let me know

Somehow, it never occurred to him that the desert could be this cold. They’re far enough from the camps Nicolo doesn’t think they’re in danger of being seen, but all the same, Yusuf didn’t think they should light a fire tonight.

Of course, he’s also wrapped in his bedroll and burrowed into the sand.

Nicolo bites his lip and tries again to stretch out, grimacing as rocky sand infiltrates his clothing again. God’s Toes, even if he could get warm, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep with sand everywhere.

“What is wrong?” Yusuf calls sleepily, his Latin taking a distinct accent it doesn’t have in the day.

Nicolo wishes they could speak to each other in their mother tongues, but while he is straining to pick it up, Yusuf’s language refuses to untwist on his tongue. He mispronounces everything, tripping over his own stupidity until the only thing that makes sense is the pidgin that he learned while trying to trade in the marketplaces outside Constantinople and Antioch.

“Cold,” he mumbles, curling back in on himself shamefully. His own fault for abandoning his bedroll (and his horse, and supplies, and almost everything except his current clothing— torn and ruined as it is— and his sword) in the Christian camps outside of Antioch.

He won’t be missed, but his horse would be. Which says rather more about the Princes’ priorities, but after three months of siege… it shouldn’t surprise him.

Yusuf mutters something under his breath— Nicolo thinks he catches something about whoreson— and pushes to his feet, stumbling over the hillocks and dropping back down next to him.

It takes him a couple minutes of fussing and mumbling before he flings the wing of one blanket over Nicolo’s shoulders. Startled by the motion— somehow— Nicolo grabs for his belt knife before relaxing again.

“Rest,” Yusuf grumbles, half in trader pidgin, half his native tongue, “day —— early.”

The body warmth soaks into Nicolo’s frozen shoulders, and he relaxes further, leaning in towards Yusuf as he _finally_ drifts off.

* * *

Yusuf’s horse snorts them awake the next morning, pre-dawn. She snuffles at their combined shoulders, looking for breakfast, and Nicolo startles out of Yusuf’s arms. Ignoring the silent man behind him, he struggles to his feet to take care of the horse.

He can feel Yusuf’s eyes on him until he steps away to do his morning prayers. He may have left his homeland behind, but the ritual of it… it’s a touchstone, a way to ensure he hasn’t strayed too far from what his mother and sister would recognize.

Yusuf’s prayers are at the same time, and they come back together after, snatching a few mouthfuls of bread before loading their belongings onto the horse and turning south.

It takes him five tries to get his mouth to form, “Thank you,” in Yusuf’s tongue— or what Nicolo _thinks_ is gratitude anyway— as they follow the road.

One day, maybe, they will be able to converse freely. Yusuf holding forth in Genovese. Perhaps, if he converts, Nicolo will be able to bring Yusuf home to meet his mother. His souvenir from his travels in the Holy Land.

Silently, he forms the words for their belongings as he follows the horse (and Yusuf). If he expects the other man to learn his language, he can do the same.


End file.
